Beets are Magical

Slavic peoples get their physical characteristics from potatoes, their smoldering inquietude from radishes, their seriousness from beets

Maybe it is a testament to my Slovak heritage, but I love beets. Even canned beets piled on my salad bar plate make me happy, I am no beet snob. Yes, I recognize the fact that fresh roasted beets with a drizzle of olive oil are much more tasty than cracking open the can, but I will take beets in any form. Even in ravioli, which A prepared for Valentines Day for me from this recipe.

If beets give me my seriousness, then it is no wonder that I have been told that I lack a sense of humor (and, I will admit to being stonyfaced during most popular comedies, and only laughing during the most obscure references on Family Guy episodes). I have always consumed beets with gusto, even when I was little and supposed to wrinkle my nose and pitch a fit at the dinner table, I always ate the beets, and asked for more. I was the twenty-something college student with two jars of beets in her basement apartment refrigerator, while my peers only stocked cheap beer and ketchup.

Rumor has it that the Greeks offered beet greens to the god Apollo on a silver platter at the temple of Delphi, but I will take my chances with angering the Gods, and keep these all for myself.